April (Part 1) - Paris/Berlin

Time to write some down. Before the next journey starts, before I confuse memory with dreams.

A lot of things happened in April that made me happy. Like seeing a friend in colorful clothes for the first time. It's fun to say, but in all the on-and-off meetings we've had over the year, he's only ever dressed in black (with the occasional white). I think he's amazing, a character who's dangled from the silent films of the fifties, and stuck to his own principles. That was also the first time he visited me at the coffee shop where I was volunteering. Then we went to my favorite movie theater and picked up a huge poster from the Jonas Mekas Center in Lithuania. Before parting, I told him that I will definitely be another person when we meet next time. I'm going to spend a whole month time travelling, picking up memories from the past.

The next day I took the train to Paris. I don't know when the trip to Paris stopped hurting me. Maybe because of the presence of friends, I no longer need to live in strange places and breathe strange air. In the evening, I arrived at my friend's residence next to Montsouris Park. Between my heavy VCR and luggage, she took a closer look at my camera, excitedly. I said that I haven't touched this tape in a year, and maybe this trip will continue to shoot something. She gave me the long-collected Aftersun Polaroids exclusively distributed by Paris Cinemas, postcards of "Suzhou Creek", and posters for the Louis Malle retrospective. The next day I went to the Montsouris Gardens, and the paths of the three theaters next to the Luxembourg Gardens, and watched two movies. Almost at the same time as I returned to her house, waiting for the microwave to heat up the Portuguese baked chicken rice bought from the supermarket, we decided to watch a movie in half an hour. She suggested: Shall we go to Aftersun. I said: OK, let's go. She didn't know it was my sixth time watching it. I don't know if I need to watch this again. But I went out anyway. When it was getting dark, I walked half a city to meet her at Carrefour next to the cinema. She said, what do you want to drink? We look at each other by the juice aisle. Then I bought a big bottle of mixed juice and she bought pomegranate juice. She said the pomegranate juice tasted like wine. We went into the theater and sat in the second row. This is a theater I've never been to. There are many restaurants and pubs nearby. After watching the movie, she returned by bicycle, and left me to listen to music and digest my tears after the movie. Once again, I took a walk for half the city of Paris to calm down.

The next day, I took the train to Berlin for more than ten hours from Paris. During the long drive, I was put in a children's car. The table in the carriage was printed with colorful prairie pastures, and four adults who did not know each other looked at each other. I didn't fall asleep, I didn't talk to them, I just bought a few beers from the dining car and got drunk on one after another. The train was transferred in Frankfurt. I remember the last time I came to Frankfurt, I stayed here for less than two hours. Because I couldn't find a place to eat, I took a walk along the Rhine and thought about many things. The train stopped again in a small German village. I bought a pack of cigarettes, and my head started to hurt. Arrived in Berlin at ten o'clock in the evening. Familiar station, familiar everything, but I don't know how to think. The film festival in February was an illusion, everything was removed, the city was empty and deserted, and there was no sense of security left. It’s like the four-wheeled bicycle I rode when I was a child, but when I learned how to ride a bicycle, it was suddenly removed by my parents and became only two wheels. Some of it made me uneasy, but luckily I've learned how to deal with the challenge.

I woke up with a headache and my eyes were so swollen for some reason that I could barely keep them open. Walking the familiar alleys of East Berlin, the weather was gloomy, I went to aldi, and observed others using the bread-cutting machine, until a grandpa came over and asked me if I needed help. Later, I went to the abandoned airport to catch up with the sudden heavy rain and the sudden clear sky. I got sicker and worse, as if defeated. For a moment I didn't know how to place myself in the city with nothing to do. Memories are everywhere, as if walking on the street without paying attention will be taken away by a certain memory track and brought back to the past. I had no choice but to stay on the bed and watch those movies that were very important to me over and over again. Someone once said that loneliness is lethargic. This sentence sums up how I felt in Berlin during those few days. I can not say a word for a day, just watch Angela Schanelec's extremely slow-paced movie and fall asleep, wake up and watch the part I haven't finished. The Saturday before I was due to leave, I met up with old friends. I haven't seen her for a year, and she is already getting married. I asked her to guess my current occupation. It's funny that she guessed uber driver first. Then we went to a nasty food store, and went to her company to steal two bottles of wine and drank all the way. She invited me to her wedding next year and a techno party in a small town in East Berlin in August.

That day, probably the best day in the few days I have been in Berlin. In the evening I got myself very drunk again and decided to waltz in a gallery closing event. There were several baskets of beer at the door, and I happily took a bottle and a lighter (with a bottle opener) ready to go in. Suddenly, a circle of people surrounded me asking me to borrow a lighter, so I chatted with them by the way. Wolfgang Tillmans saw us standing and smoking at the door, invited everyone to come in, handed me a chair, and asked me to sit down at a table. Probably because of too much drinking, I didn't feel that he was one of my favorite artists. I didn't have any intention of going up to talk to him. The activities continued, and seeing the free Berliners singing and dancing, I was almost drunk (too happy) to pass out. After the event I continued my chat with a woman I had chatted with at the door earlier. Her name was Voila, and she was an old friend of Wolfgang Tillmans and his studio archivist. She said I had a British accent and I said no, it made me sad. She then added: Actually, listen carefully, you also have an American accent. She asked me why I came to Berlin, and I said, it was hard to answer at the moment, but I love this city and have been here for the past two years to participate in the film festival. I chatted with her about my favorite Berliner Schule, the film trend in the millennium, and said that because I liked many films of that period, I wanted to study film here in the future. We chatted for more than an hour, until there were only a few people left in the room. She said very seriously that she would help me find an internship. We exchanged contact information and she said she would like to see me one more time before I left.

At noon the day before I left, we agreed to meet at a traditional Turkish coffee shop next to the Kottbusser Tor. I was touched by the fact that she took her lunch break to ride her bike to meet me. I showed her some photographs I had taken while traveling in college, and she said that one even reminded her of Andrei Tarkovsky's Mirror. Afterwards, I hardly listened to her compliments on me, because this may be the biggest compliment I have ever received in my life, and it is also the most important one. I thank her for taking the time to see me, it means a lot to me. She also thanked us for the chance meeting because of a lighter, and said to keep in touch and keep creating no matter what. Then I was full of strength again.

The night before I left Berlin, I was sadder than ever. Cycling in the rain next to an abandoned airport and drinking about six beers. I can't say that I still love this city so much, I can't say anything except that I won't be back this year. I will remember the tears that night for a long time, tears for no reason or countless reasons. It is hard to tell whether it is because of despair or heartfelt happiness. Perhaps it was the tears of farewell, an indescribable emotion, the most intense of its kind.